Shreds
by Celeste K. Raven
Summary: AU. One-shot. Future Flora is aiming to do off with the professor before he turns into a crime lord. Future Luke is aiming to stop her… but current London is full of distracting, painful memories.


**No real spoilers for any of the the games, but this probably won't make much sense unless you've played through the third game. **

* * *

Luke's movements were numb and belated, but Flora's eyes were full of fire. Gressenheller University smelled like paint and hardwood flooring. Students jostled the two time travelers; squeaky shoes made wet streaks on the ground, which served to further hinder Luke's uneven gait. He kept his eyes on Flora's hair, which billowed around her as she danced through the crowd.

He fought to keep oxygen in his lungs. Feet stumbling, sides screaming, he approached a door with a tall hat painted near the top. Flora reached it before he did. He was sure she was going to smack straight into it, but, naturally, she didn't. She turned the knob with one hand and used her weight to push the door open before he could catch up with her. Luke pressed his hands into the small of her back. Together they tumbled into the professor's old office.

Empty. It was Luke's first thought when he caught sight of the vacant chair next to Hershel's desk. The lamp was still heating a stack of old newspapers, which had been laid out to protect the surface of the desk from dust and sharp tools. The office had recently been used… but for now, it was empty.

Flora squirmed underneath Luke. He tried to keep her pinned to the ground but she was larger and fitter then he was. She stood on long legs and surveyed the scene.

''_Bloody hell_…'' she cursed under her breath. She ignored Luke as he came up behind her.

''He's not here, Flora,'' Luke whispered, all sugar and gentleness. ''The man we need to stop is back in our time.''

She shook her head as if to shoo away an irritating fly. Luke watched as her shoulders suddenly stiffed. He followed her gaze to a plate of cucumber sandwiches.

She walked towards them in a sort of a trance and lifted one to her nose. Her lips moved soundlessly; he thought she was going to take a bite of it. Instead, she tossed it across the room. She gave an angry grunt when the entire plate followed. Her fumbling hands grasped random items on the table, seeking something to throw.

''Flora!'' Luke growled, not sure what else to say. Her eyes had gone from fire to inferno; she was beyond reason.

''Yes Luke?'' she asked coldly.

''S-s-stop. _Now_.''

''You sound funny when you're angry,'' she mocked.

A chair crashed into the ceiling, breaking a light bulb. Luke ducked his head against the shards that rained down around him.

''Someone's going to find us here, we have to go.''

He tried to keep the desperation out of his voice, but it was pressing so hard against his chest…

The glass kept breaking. He walked towards the desk and chose a miniature pick axe, and then threw it at Flora's left foot.

She bit her lip to stop herself from screaming, though he would've bet the surprise hurt worse than the throbbing. She stared at him with such open animosity that bile rose up in his throat, but he chocked it back down to make way for his next words.

''This time is turning your head. Come, just- at least come away from this building.''

''You're right; we have to go find Layton,'' she agreed.

Layton, Hershel… they had not called him ''the professor'' since he had betrayed them. It was only a soft blow against their former role model, but sometimes Luke thought they felt the brunt of it instead of _him_.

He sat on the couch and prepared to be reasonable, but he had already lost her attention. She pulled up her boots and marched away. A mask of determination painted her face. _Determination to murder her adopted father with her bare hands._

Luke put his own hands up to his head as if to stop his revulsion from slopping put all over the floor. His fingers touched thick, mousey hair, reminding him that he no longer had his hat. Hershel had pinned to the top of the Pagota like a flag. That blow had not been so soft.

Luke took a few seconds to mentally prepare himself for another sprint.

* * *

**The title is very appropriate, since this is really just a shred of an idea. Inspiration hit, so what could I do? Feed back would be appricated. **

**Write On!**


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